Photograph
by Au revoir Amour
Summary: A missing scene from "No Place Like Home". PLEASE review? Please? :


**A/N: Did you ever wonder what happened during those two months we missed in "There's No Place Like Home"? I did, but I didn't want to write two monthes's worth of story, so I'm writing one scene I'm assuming happened because of the mysterious disappearance of the picture of the morgue gang from Jordan's desk during this time. Now maybe it was because of Slokum's rules; but I doubt it, so this takes place maybe two weeks after the whole 'Woody got shot' deal. And I know Amelia Bianca Black's starting a story with a similar idea; but I've been planning on writing this for a while (ever since Casey gave me the idea) and her story was a kind of push in the butt to write my own. Plus, this is a missing scene, and hers takes place afterward, so it's different, right? And mine is a one-shot... okay, I'll stop complaining now. Thank you Casey for helping me get this written in English rather than French, as I expect that not many here read French... at least not _well_... (Yes, I am referring to you, Annabelle)**

* * *

"_Screw you, I don't need your pity."_

* * *

I slumped down into my desk chair and put my head in my hands. How could he? Did he really think I said it out of pity? Because I thought he would never walk again? Why would I do that? He was an idiot to think that I would.

* * *

"_I meant it. What I said last night. You whisper something in my ear, and it's supposed to change everything? It doesn't."_

"_You've been through a lot Woody. I think maybe we should talk about this later." _

"_I'm serious. Just because I'm going to get better—"_

"_Woody—"_

"_Jordan." He paused. "Leave." _

_I stared at him a moment, then regained my composure only to do just that; take the plant I had brought him and leave his hospital room. It all went downhill from there. Me finding the guard, that punk who had shot Woody, Riggs, mysteriously 'disappearing', and everything that happened with Slokum practically the minute I came back to the morgue.

* * *

_

I looked up, trying not to cry. Everything was falling apart! Woody, my reliable side-kick and fall-back plan in the friend department had told me to screw off, and hadn't called me in nearly two weeks. Garret, my best friend in the whole world, the man who had given me my job at the morgue, the man I could always count on to by my rock, was out his job because of that asshole, Slokum. Nigel, my other best friend, wasn't himself. Cutting his hair? Wearing a _tie_? He wasn't... _Nigel_... anymore. Even Lily had given up.

I spotted the picture and picked it up almost curiously. It had been obscured by my mountain of over-due paperwork for so long that I had forgotten it was there until Slokum made me go through the pile and complete whatever I hadn't. Stupid Slokum. I know I shouldn't blame him... actually, you know what? I should blame him! He's an ass! He tore our family apart, put in new rules and new locks and a new dress code, and new standards that we had to work our asses off to meet. He got rid of Garret! And at the worst possible time, too. The thing with Woody would still have happened even if Slokum had never been born, but truthfully... it might have gone better had Garret been there to be a rock for everyone like he always had been.

I stared at the photograph. Lily was on the far right; Garret was next to her and looking toward Nigel and Bug. Devan was standing next to him, smiling at the camera. Bug was next to her, and Nigel was behind him, pretending to choke him while Bug acted dead, his head lawling to one side. I stood to the left of them, grinning broadly, and _he_ was next to me, mouth open and pointing to them with obvious amusement. He was doing that typical thing _he_did; yelling "Haaaaaaaaaay!" loudly instead of "Cheese" so he looked happy but wasn't actually smiling, so the dimples weren't there.

Tears sprung to my eyes. Garret, my rock, wasn't around anymore. Devan, my friend, was dead. Woody, my friend, my side-kick, my dancer-partner so to speak was... I couldn't stand it any longer. The pain, the anguish, the heartbreak he had caused. So I did what any girl in my position (and weakened state of mind) would do. I threw it.

The corner of the frame hit the wall, leaving a small indent in the beige painted surface; the frame broke into two L-shaped pieces, each half of the frame; and, of course, the glass shattered into a million shards that sprayed over the floor, my couch, the table, my phone.... The photo was nowhere to be seen.

Lily rushed into the room, the panic evident on her pretty features. "What happened?" she asked quickly, seeing the glass all over everything. I shrugged as if to apologise.

"It fell," I lied, getting up and picking up the broken frame, careful of the sharp glass embedded in it. I dropped it in the trash. "Can you find Hank and tell him to bring the broom for me?" Hank was the new custodian Slokum had hired. Nobody liked Hank very much. He wasn't Manny, our old custodian. Manny was much nicer, whilst Hank cost less but was a pain in the ass and acted as if nothing mattered.

"Sure, Dr. Cavanaugh," said Lily, turning and leaving quietly. Since when did Lily call me 'Dr. Cavanaugh'? I looked up from the trash can, which I had been staring at for no apparent reason, and saw Slokum standing in the doorway looking annoyed.

"What happened here?" asked Slokum, sounding almost menacingly calm. He had his hands on his hips, and I noticed that his nails had been recently manicured. They were shiny, probably clear coated, and all cut to the exact same length. Like those stupid little bonzi trees of his.

"I was organising my desk, and I knocked over a picture," I explained, lying through my teeth. He looked around at the broken glass, and how spread out it was.

"Are you sure you knocked it over?" he asked, spotting the tiny mark on the wall, "Or maybe it was... thrown?" I gritted my teeth, but faked a sincere smile anyway.

"Oh, that? That mark was made years ago, long before this office belonged to me." Slokum looked sceptical, but left anyway. Luckily.

I cleaned up all the glass, and started to look for the photo. I was an idiot to have thrown it; it was the only picture I had of Devan, so I needed to find it. And Woody and I would make up eventually and laugh about this whole thing later. ...Probably.

I checked under the couch, the table, the desk, but the photo was nowhere to be found. I flopped down on the couch, careful of my skirt, in defeat. Damn.

The photo stayed wedged between the wall and the couch until I found it much, much later, after the whole ordeal with Woody. It just goes to show, I guess.


End file.
